Angels & Demons
by Ducktape980
Summary: "Everyone has secrets. Everyone has a past. What you hide is what you really are, your history defines you. But it doesn't have to." "It does when you have no future, Ireland. And we both know my history is all I have left." In need of new beta-reader!
1. Chapter 1

The year was 1947. It was raining, and the overcast and clouds gave off a dark and dreary demeanor for the day. But this wasn't out of the norm for everyone's favorite ex-pirate nation, England. He walked down the worn London street, on his way to another World Conference meeting. Thankfully, this time it was stationed in his country. The last meeting ended up being a colossal mess because it was held in New York, and America had planned for it to be more of a party then a meeting. That was all well and good, except when you mix alcohol with politics. 3 threats for war and a 5 day long hangover later, things finally calmed down. But that didn't mean Iggy had nothing to worry about. Oh no. He had just recovered from riots and uprisings just across the Celtic Sea, and is economy was getting hit quite harshly. But, he still had to attend the World meeting. Otherwise America would worry, Japan would stay home, France would try to rape somebody, and Russia would probably kill everybody. He didn't have much choice. Not to mention, today was THE day.

Upon opening the large double doors in the meeting hall, England realized he was late. Quite late. But that wasn't the weirdest part. Japan was already there, right on time as usual, as well as Germany and that strange floating bear, but there were a few extra chairs at the table. Not only were there extra chairs, but some of those chairs were filled by Belgium, Netherlands, Wales, and... Scotland. For the most part, this didn't surprise Iggy. He hadn't seen some of his siblings and friends in many years, but he knew they would be coming. It was going to be a big day, after all. Whether he liked it or not.

As everyone else arrived(namely France and Italy, who were always late), the tension in the air began to grow. It was unusually quiet, even though Italy wouldn't stop whispering to Japan from just across the table and slurping his pasta(how did he manage to get that in here?). England checked his watch and the people stationed around him, and, noticing what time it was, stood and began the meeting.

"Welcome, everyone. It's time to start the world meeting. But,-" He paused for emphasis, "Before we begin, I'd like to introduce you to someone."

"Ve~? A new country?" Italy asked innocently.

"Well, not quite Italy. Everyone, I'd like you to meet my little sister, Ireland."

As if on cue, the large double doors slammed open. A girl with bright, almost orange red hair, worn in a loose bun behind her head with a few loose curls hanging on either side of her pale, freckled face, walked in. She wore a faded black newsboy cap on her head, as well as a white shirt with a neon green clover on it, with the words 'Get Lucky' printed in gold letters. She also had on a pair of dark green army cargo combat pants with various pockets, held up by bright red suspenders. She tread on shiny black combat boots, and covering her thin shoulders was a cropped black leather jacket, left unzipped in the front. Her hands were clad in simple black leather fingerless driving gloves, and the chains on her belt loops swung and clinked as she walked. She continued walking, letting the doors swing behind her. As she waltzed right past everybody, she nodded curtly at Wales and winked at Scotland, who both smirked in return. Though, she payed no attention to England, even after he so cordially introduced her to everyone. She simply smiled mischievously and walked right past him.

She stopped behind the chairs of Prussia, France, and Spain (God only knows why the three were seated together!). All eyes were still on her, but all she said was:

"So, you're the infamous Bad Touch Trio, eh?" Her accent was thick, somewhere between British and Scottish, with a smooth feminine tone. Prussia was the first to answer.

"Yeah, vhat's it to you, liebling?" He smirked, because usually this caught women off guard or made them blush. But not Ireland.

"Well, consider yourselves a quartet." She said. She swung over an empty chair and placed it between Prussia and France, plopping herself down rather unladylike. She then proceeded to produce a dark brown bottle from her pocket, it's decorative label reading something along the lines of 'Pale Ale Beer' in her native language. She popped the cap off with ease, caught it before it flew too far, and took a big, long swig from it.

"Ya' know, I'm hungry. Anyone know where I can find some good Bangers and Mash 'round here?"

That sent the whole Trio into a fit of snickering and near hysterics, as well as a few of the other more childish and perverted countries.

"That sounds like what we did last week, no?" France snickered.

"But with more smashing than mashing!" Spain added, still grinning.

And that is how Ireland made her first impression on the collective World.


	2. Chapter 2

**Heyz everybody! Just wanted to quick warn you that I will be using some, uh... language, in this chapter. But no worries! Most of it is in Gaelic(Irish)! See translations (for both words and slang terms) at the end of the chapter!**

**PSSSST! O.O ... disclaimed.**

* * *

"Ifreann na Fola!"(1) Rhiannon Marie Kirkland O'Malley, aka the human personification of Ireland, yelled. Her orange-red hair was down, barely reaching her shoulders, and held at bay by her favorite brown newsboy cap. A pale orange, wide sleeved t-shirt with hot pink horizontal stripes draped her tiny frame, and her legs were scarcely covered by a pair of brown shorty shorts. She was currently standing outside of her brother Britain's house, attempting to squeeze a small thing into an even smaller opening.

"Would you please, for the love of scones, stop SCREAMING? Honestly, Ireland, I can't believe you locked yourself out of your own car. Again!" Arthur Kirkland, aka England, said, leaning up against the side of an old, rusted out, clover green two seater pickup truck. The passenger side window was rolled down slightly, barely enough for Ireland to slide her thin wrist through, and she was attempting to slide a straightened wire coat hanger into the keyring hanging out of the ignition, or at least around the inner door handle.

"Would you just shut up an' 'elp already?" She retorted, her obvious anger clear on her face, but also focused mainly on her task. "Or are ya just gonna to stand there watching me effin' and blindin'(2), ya phis(3)?"

"H-hey! Th-there's no need for that kind of language here!" Not that England wasn't used to his dear little sister's sharp tongue and foul mouth, but sometimes it just caught him off guard. Of course, he'd also taught her most of the words and phrases, back when he was a pirate, but she had changed and adapted them to her native language, and was very proud of them. Not to mention, since he became a gentleman and left his pirate days behind, he actually never swore anymore, not even when he was fighting with France. "Besides, I offered to help you. You're the one who insisted that the only help you needed from me was a coat hanger and the rest of your stuff from your old room."

"Yeah, well... I don't need you anymore anyways." She sighed, pulling her arm out of the window, the door now slightly ajar. She swiftly handed the hanger back to her brother, before promptly lifting the cardboard box that sat on the ground beside her feet. Casually dropping the box on the seat, she snatched up the keys from the ignition and slammed the door. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a hot date with France."

"YOU WHAT?"

Laughing almost hysterically, Ireland climbed into the truck and started it. She was still laughing as she pulled away, her bright red converse pressuring the gas pedal to move. She wasn't actually going on a date with France, she just loved to mess with her brother. She was really on her way to Germany's house for her and the Trio's monthly Rockband tournament/jam session in Prussia's "apartment" (Germany's basement).

* * *

SLAM!

"I'M HERE! Hope you guys didn't start without me!"

Three sets of eyes fell upon her as she slammed the door open and gingerely walked down the stairs. All three of them smiled at her.

"Hey, Ire(*)! Glad you finally showed up, we almost did." Prussia called. His black polo t-shirt was unbuttoned, leaving a V-ed neckline that showed a tease of his pale, muscled chest, and his baggy jeans sagged slightly.

"What took you so long, chica?" Spain asked, standing up and straightening his green t-shirt over his tanned shorts. "Gil was getting worried."

"Wha- Nien! I was not!" Needless to say, snickering ensued, from both Spain and France.

"Ah, mon ami, it is written on your face! Don't deny it!" France added. The usual fashion icon wore a rather relaxed outfit today, just a dark blue shirt and white pants. Ireland just rolled her emerald eyes, smirking.

" 'ey guys, stop messin' with 'im." She chided. "I thought we were 'ere to have some fun?"

And with that, the conversation stopped and the XBox was turned on. They took turns choosing songs, Prussia choosing only 'the awesomest ones', and with Spain on drums, Prussia and France on guitar and bass, and Ireland singing, the tournament began. The tournament was really just a game of survival, seeing who would drop out first and who could last the longest. As usual, it ended with Prussia and Ireland going at it, head to head with a near tied performance score on their last song. Facing each other instead of the screen, they sung out together, dancing around as Spain cheered them on and France watched from the couch. It was the longest, and hardest song, and they were in the final stretch, when suddenly...

BZZZT!

"Huh?"

"Ciach(4)!"

"Vhat the hell?"

The power went out. Completely. They were plunged into pitch darkness, and since they were in Germany's basement, there was no light from any windows either. Obviously, everything went to chaos.

Scrambling over each other, pushing and shoving, the four countries made their way to the stairs, and, upon reaching the top of the steps, they came face to face with...

Italy's cat.

* * *

**BUMBUM! Cliffhanger! More or less...**

(1) "Ifreann na Fola" = Bloody hell

(2)"effin' and blindin'" = Swearing and cursing

(3) "Phis" = Pussy

(4)"Ciach" = Damn

(*) I needed a nickname for her, so I went with this.


	3. Chapter 3

Shadows graced the walls, and the moonlight drifting in from the windows glinted sharply off of the gun in ItaCat's paw. No one dared move, or even breathe. In the scramble to get upstairs, Spain had somehow ended up in the front of the pack, and was now the only human barrier protecting them. As much of a reassurance as that was, it wasn't very comforting.

"H-hey there, little gatto(1)!" Spain stuttered nervously. The cat merely glared harder, it's eyes, open surprisingly, were not their usual golden hue, but rather a deep, blood red, duller and darker than Prussia's, like dried blood. "W-where's I-Italy?"

Silence. Obviously. Did you honestly expect a cat to talk?

ItalyCat simply gestured curtly towards the kitchen door. The countries glanced at each other, before hearing the telltale click of the safety going off. That kicked everyone into gear. They hurried into the kitchen almost as fast as they'd run up the stairs.

Once they'd reached Germany's kitchen, the large double doors leading to the dining room were slammed shut, by two men in black clothes and fedoras. ItaCat appeared in the doorway they'd just come through. He meowed, rather forcefully, before that door too was slammed, leaving the four countries alone in the dark.

"Well, this is a durcheinander(2)!" Prussia noted, leaning up against the counter. "Now what?"

"We look out the window." Spain replied, ripping open the curtains in front of the small window above the kitchen sink. It was a small window, but it still gave something of a view, and they all crowded around it.

Outside, a sleek black limo sat in Germany's driveway, its engine still running. A few men, like the ones they saw earlier, we're standing guard outside the car. Most of them were holding guns, larger and obviously more powerful than the small pistol Italy's cat had used. Speak of the devil, there he was, waltzing sleekly out of the front door and up to the car, where one of the guards opened the car door for him. Instead of climbing in, he stood just out of the way, and out stepped sweet, innocent little Italy. Or, at least, it looked like Italy.

Before any more observations could be made, a loud bang resonated from upstairs, just above their heads. More scuffling noises and footsteps followed.

"Wasn't Germany... sleeping, when we got here?" France questioned, fear creeping into his features.

"Yeah..." Prussia replied. "He WAS."

Looking back outside, they could all see Germany being dragged outside. He was brought up to the Italy-like figure. All guns were aimed at him, but none were fired. Instead, the figure stepped aside, and Germany was shoved into the back of the limo, obviously against his will.

"WEST!" Prussia screamed. He raced to the nearest door, frantically trying to turn the knob or yank it out of the doorframe completely. The others just stood there, watching at first, before they decided to help him.

"Prussia, you best move. I got this." Taking a few good steps back, Ireland slammed her shoulder, and all her weight, into the locked door, with as much force as a middle linebacker(*). The door slammed open, its hinges obviously loosened, and with it went Ireland, tripping over her own weight and into the adjacent wall. "Ugh..."

"Ire! You ok?" Prussia asked, kneeling beside her.

"Yep, perfect. Just fine." She smirked up at him, holding her sore arm but shaking it off as she spoke. "Now get going, your brother needs you."

And with that, he took off, France following. Spain stayed back a moment to help Ireland up before they followed too.

Prussia got outside just as the sleek black limo was pulling away down Germany's long driveway. He stood in shock, watching it leave with his little brother. And that was when the Awesome Prussia almost cried.

* * *

**TADAA! I understand that this chapter might not make much sense now, but (hopefully) it will soon! Eventually...**

(1)"Gatto" = Cat

(2)"Durcheinander" = mess

(*) American football position


	4. Chapter 4

**HEYZ! So I wanted to warn you all, I'm making this story slightly more serious than originally planned, for now, and I'm going to change the name. Just wanted to let you know before I do so you don't get confused! Thanks for cooperating!**

**Disclaimed**

* * *

"Relax, mon ami. Germany is a big man, he can take care of himself."

A few days later, four nations sat in a booth in the back of a local German bar. They each had a drink in their hands, and there were a few empty mugs and bottles on the table, but not many(yet).

"That's not what I'm worried about, Francis." Prussia replied, sipping his almost full mug of beer. "It's the dummkopfs that took him I'm worried about. They looked... familiar..." He said eerily, looking anxiously around the bar, like he was looking for someone. Or something.

"Well, there isn't much we can do about it now. We've already warned the other nations, so there's no use in worrying. Right Rhi?" The Spaniard asked, rolling his R's in his thick accent. He'd obviously had a few more drinks than everyone else at the table, as usual. He casually, but rather hardly, slapped his hand across the lone female nation's shoulder, which was still sore.

"Ouch! Watch it, tuilli(1)!" Was her quick but heated reply. After sending a quick glare his way, she looked back down at her dark beer, sloshing the contents around before sighing and muttering a quiet "Sorry."

"What've you got to be sorry for?" Prussia asked, feigning concern. "You didn't do anything."

"Yet." France smirked, sipping his drink. Spain smacked him in the side as he was drinking though, and he nearly spit his drink out. "What?"

"I just feel bad..." She said quietly. "You and yer brother are so close. To have someone so close to you just... ripped away like that... It... I can't even imagine what 'aving a real sibling is like, let alone losing one."

Slight confusion passed over the other's faces. Ok, maybe more than slight.

"What do you mean, Senorita(2)? Aren't Wales, Scotland, and England your brothers?"

"Not exactly... You see, 'mum' kinda adopted me...

~Flashback~

The continent of Celtic Britain, the proud daughter of Europe, strode gracefully out of her small stone cottage. Her long, wavy strawberry blonde hair billowing in the crisp ocean breeze. She walked across the yard, three smaller figures in tow. The boy in the front walked close to his mother, his soft red-blonde hair shining in the sunlight and his yellow-green eyes alight with curiosity. Following him was a ginger-haired lad with dark green eyes and a splash of freckles across his features. He seemed to be teasing the youngest, who had ashy blonde hair and vibrant green eyes. The two began chasing each other around, running and jumping over the rocks and tree stumps scattered across the seaside cliff landscape.

"Oi, Scotland! Stop bothering your brother! And England, stop egging 'im on! We've got work to do!" The woman called, her voice strong, but growing raspy, probably from yelling at them all the time. The boys stopped, falling back into line behind their brother, Wales, and the family ventured off along the cliff towards a worn path that led to the shore. Unbeknownst to them, another pair of bright green eyes watched from a bush at the edge of the treeline. Emerald eyes with flecks of gold in them, and they watched the smiling family intently. A few moments of contemplation passed before the figure stepped out from the bush and began to follow the path the family had taken.

~End Flashback~

"Long story short, I wandered in and she took pity on me. I was scrawny, weak, and probably the most ratty and wild creature to ever walk into that house." Ireland smiled, thinking of her "mother". "Not much different now, I 'spose, but my brother's didn't really accept me at first, and I guess some of them still haven't." She said before taking a long swig from her beer, the smile faded.

"Wait, so you don't know who your real mama or papa are?" Spain slurred, still coherent but barely.

"Nope. And I'm perfectly fine with that." She said. It was a lie, of course, but things were getting too somber for her liking, so she felt it best to lay off the topic of herself. It was never her favorite topic anyway.

At least no one had another opportunity to ask any more questions, because in the next moment, Russia walked in and took a seat at the bar, directly across from them.

"Huh? What's he doing here?" Prussia muttered. It wasn't like Russia to wander into other countries and sit down in their bars. He tended to keep to himself. It was even weirder when he spoke to the bar tender, barely above a whisper it seemed, and they had a conversation.

In German.

Not long after, the bartender walked away, leaving Russia alone with a bottle of vodka and a shot glass, which he disregarded. He began to down the bottle, making half of it disappear in a matter of a minute. He slammed the bottle down on the counter, obviously not in a very good mood.

"Where did he come from?" France asked innocently (as innocent as France could possibly be).

"I don't know, but I don't really want to find out right now." Prussia remarked. "He seems pissed."

But, when Prussia turned back around to face the table, he noticed that one nation was missing.

"Vhat the hell do you think you're doing?" Prussia whispered/called. She was only a few feet away, but she was still walking.

"He and I've got.. history(*). I'm not scared of him." She called back. "Besides, I want to know what's upsetting him."

And so, she waltzed right up beside him, leaned up against the counter, and slung her arm up onto the counter top in front of him. This obviously got his attention, because within a span of the next few seconds, he had looked her in the eye, blinked, and pulled his lead pipe out from somewhere inside his pocket. He swung, and narrowly missed her, before stepping down from his stool. His deep glare and dark, red eyes seemed to challenge anyone who moved, and they were wide, sparked with insanity.

* * *

(1) "**Tuilli" = Bastard**

(2) "**Senorita" = girl/lady**

**(*) Russia and Ireland were fairly close for a time, even drinking buddies, before WWII. Things were a bit rough afterwords though, because Russia's soviet spies had been using Irish citizens' names for covert operations, and he'd voted her out of the United Nations numerous times. And then there was the indecent with Operation Green...**


	5. Chapter 5

**************Heyz everybody! So before I begin this chapter, I just wanted to give a special shoutout to my beta-reader, LucyMoon1992, just for being so awesome!**

**Prussia: NOT as Awesome as ME!... Right?**  
**Me: Maybe... Anyways, onward!**  
**…... Disclaimed**

* * *

"R-Russia? The bloody fuck do you think yer doin?"

Stumbling backwards, Ireland tripped over her feet clumsily, in her haste to retreat, landing her squarely on the floor. But that wasn't what she was worried about at the moment. 'Russia just attacked me! He's never done that! At least, not directly or on purpose! We're friends! Or, maybe we _were_**…**'

Russia simply smirked, his wide, wild eyes looking even scarier paired atop that sinister smile. It was so scary, even Gilbird seemed to have disappeared in the hopes of evading Russia's gaze. He raised his pipe again, ready to swing, when out of nowhere, Prussia tackled the Russian man from behind, trying to pull the lead pipe from his grasp.

"Leave. Her. Alone!" Prussia growled at him. He was _furious_. For what reason no one was quite sure. His normally red eyes were changing, getting darker, and his vicious snarl revealed a set of sharp, gleaming whiteteeth. He seemed to be changing, but it was barely noticeable, and from a distance no one else could see it. Which was a good thing for him, it would have been hard to explain.

He finally managed to get the lead weapon out of Russia's hand. Having secured the obvious, immediate threat, he went on the defensive.

"Everyone, get out!" Prussia yelled. Most of the bar patrons had already left, but those who hadn't were more motivated to go now. But obviously, France, Spain, and Ireland weren't so motivated. They were either paralyzed by fear or too brave for their own good. Probably both. "Gottverdammte(1)! I said, Get OUT!"

"B-but, Prussia, we-"

"SPAIN! NOW!"

Moments later, the whole bar had been evacuated, including the bartender and waitresses. The place was empty, save for Prussia and Russia, somehow still in a heated standoff. Prussia, now breathing heavily, lifted the pipe, holding it like a sword. He began to roll his neck, his head shaking ever now and then. His features became sharper, paler, his bright teeth becoming sharp and his red eyes growing darker, cloudier, and colder. His fingers, keeping a hard grip on the weapon in his hand, were longer, sharper. His gaze never shifted from Russia's, the sneer still prominent on his face. Russia, on the other hand, still had that same, insane smile on his face.

But the smile didn't last. It fell into a confused frown, right before Prussia slammed the pipe across his face. With the larger man now on the ground, Prussia sauntered over to where he lay, dazed, on his back. He held the pipe over Russia's neck, keeping him down.

"Now tell me, who are you, really?"

* * *

Three nations sat in France's red convertible, their faces solemn. Spain had suggested calling the police, but France had dismissed it, saying Prussia had been in plenty of bar fights, and since him and Russia had some political agreement, it was best not to make their fighting public knowledge. They waited outside, in the back parking lot of the bar, waiting patiently for Prussia to stumble out the back door with Russia, one dragging the other as they laughed over their petty argument. But they were deluding themselves, and they knew it. They had all seen that something was wrong with Russia, it was plenty obvious. But they hadn't known how to deal with it at the time, and since Russia now owned most of Prussia's old land, Prussia and Russia had some sort of underhand agreement or treaty, and Prussia seemed to know what he was doing, like it had happened before. So no one questioned it. At least, not out loud.

Almost an hour passed before France decided something was wrong. Spain suggested going inside, to see if maybe he had lost and needed assistance, but Ireland said that probably wasn't a good idea, having participated in her fair share of bar fights, and they usually didn't end well, for the people involved, or the location. Instead, she suggested calling his cell-phone, to see if maybe he had walked home. After all, his house was only a few blocks away.

She dialed the number quickly, and after three rings, a familiar yet grouchy voice answered.

"VHAT?" Prussia barked, his voice sounding vaguely austere.

"Geez, calm down. We were just wonderin' if you were alright. You never came outside, so we thought you'd gone home or-" She was cut off by the angry Prussian.

"Now's not a good time, ok? I'm fine**;** it's been taken care of, so just... Just go home, alright?" He then proceeded to hang up on her, but seeing as the phone was on speaker mode, he'd hung up on everyone really.

"Wow." Spain finally said. "He's muy meada! He must have lost, huh?"

Spain, ever the innocent and blissfully ignorant one. When he was drunk.

And with that, France sighed, starting the car.

* * *

The next few days were fairly quiet. None of them had heard from Prussia since the night of the bar fight. They'd all just kind of moved on from it, waiting for Prussia to come around and be back to his old, not-so-moody self.

Carrying a small, covered basket, Ireland walked across the tall grass at the top of the hill. She made her way over to a shady tree, sitting down beside the only other occupant of the shade on a red checkered blanket. He gently awoke from his light slumber, sitting up from his leaning position against the tree. He smiled when he saw her, his shaggy brown hair swaying slightly in the breeze.

"Γεια σου(3), Rhiannon." He mumbled sleepily. She smiled back at him, pushing a few strands of her short hair behind her ear.

Now, many of the other countries didn't know about this, or they just didn't care, but Ireland and Greece had begun dating. They had met after a World Meeting, and had really hit it off, becoming close friends. Finally, Greece had asked Ireland to go to the movies with him, and things just went from there.

"Dia dhuit, Heracles. Conas atá tú?" Somehow, all the nations understood each other's native languages, at least a little. Except America. Everyone had to learn even more English, and adjust to his 'slang', to accommodate him. Stupid America... (*)

"I'm great. Especially now that you're here. And that you've brought food!" He replied, winking at her. She giggled, smacking his arm lightly.

"Oh stop it." She teased. "You best be careful, talkin' too sweet might give you a toothache."

"Really?" He asked innocently, nibbling on his sandwich, which he had sneaked out of the basket as she spoke.

"No, silly. I was joking."

"Good, I hear toothaches hurt."

And that's how most of their little picnic went, playful joking and silly banter filled most of the conversation, keeping the politics and economy out of mind. The two nations were happy, peaceful, and as the sun started to set on the horizon, they brought their conversation to a close, watching the sky in near bliss. Ireland gently rested her head on Greece's shoulder, a soft sigh escaping her lips. And, when the sun finally fell below the horizon, Heracles (who somehow managed to stay awake) gently nudged Rhiannon off of his shoulder. He placed a hand under her chin, lifting her head slightly so he could place a soft kiss upon her lips. Their first kiss. It was _perfect_.

Little did the two love birds know that they had an audience. A rather shocked audience, I might add, standing on the sidewalk not far from the park, a little yellow bird flying over and perching on his stiff shoulder. He had not expected to run into either of them, let alone witness them kiss! Grumbling something in German, he began to walk away from the park, his pace quicker than before. 'Just when I get myself calmed down...'

* * *

**Well, what did you think? I want you to be honest, did anyone see this coming? And what was the deal with Prussia, and Russia? And I hope it was obvious enough to tell who the "audience" was. Anyways, thanks SOOOOOOOOO much for reading, and if you have time could you please comment, you know, by pressing that button right down there and putting your keyboard to good use? Thanks!**

(1) "Gottverdammte" = God damn  
(2) "Muy meada" = very pissed  
(3) "Γεια σου" = Hello  
(4) "Dia dhuit" "Conas atá tú" = Hello/God to you , and How are you  
(*) This isn't meant to insult anyone, it's merely to reference the Hetalia America and how he's kinda... slow. That's all!


	6. Chapter 6

**LucyMoon1992 you are Awesome, without you this chapter would have sucked!**

**Disclaimed**

* * *

Arthur Kirkland was never one to stay up late. Not unless he was working on a spell or doing paperwork. And even then, he never stayed awake much later than 10 o'clock. But tonight was an exception.

His boss had been working him extremely hard lately, pressuring him to make friends and fill out unnecessary paperwork. Needless to say, it was exhausting. As he lay tossing and turning in his bed, trying desperately to get comfortable, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. He sat up, looking over at the digital clock on his nightstand.

12:03 PM.

With a sigh, he let his head fall heavily back onto the pillow. He was just about to close his eyes, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a shadow cross his door, which was slightly ajar. 'What the blazes was that?'

Deciding it was probably nothing, he again attempted to get some sleep. Mere inches from dreamland, a noise jolted him awake again. His door had creaked open. Now, he normally would have blown it off as just a breeze, since he tended to leave a few windows open on cool summer nights like this, but when it was accompanied by a loud thud from downstairs, he knew something was up.

Jumping out of bed, he grabbed a shirt off his dresser, slipping it on as he stepped out into the hall. He may live alone, but he didn't want to run into unexpected visitors half dressed! Wearing nothing but his dirty shirt and worn, Union Jack sweatpants, he creeped down the stairs. He was expecting an attacker, or maybe a foolish burglar, maybe even France! But when he reached the main floor of his house, there was no one there.

"Better check the house anyway, since I'm already up." He concluded to himself. He went to the kitchen first, having assumed that was where the noise had come from. Upon arriving, he noticed that his basement door was open. "Strange... I don't recall opening the basement yesterday..."

He continued his investigation, grabbing a knife off of the counter on his way to the door. There was a strange sound coming from the basement, like a strong, constant humming.

'No...' He thought to himself. 'No, it can't be!'

He rushed down the stairs, not caring whether or not he was heard anymore. His apparent worst fears were confirmed when he reached the bottom.

Across the cool, damp room stood a large cabinet, its doors wide open, and from the other side of those doors came a glowing, swirling red light. But the scarier sight was what was climbing out of the cabinet. Or rather, who.

"Ch-China?"

* * *

It was a calm morning. The birds were chirping, the sun was shining. But, more importantly, it was quiet. Too quiet.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

'Well, so much for peace and quiet.' The sole resident of the small household stood up from the table, leaving the kitchen with coffee in hand. She ran a hand through her dark brown, curly hair, her baggy pajama bottoms dragging across the floor as she walked. 'Now who on Earth could be at my door this early in the morning?'

Upon opening the door, she instantly regretted it.

"Morning, Ulster(*)! How's it cuttin'(1)?"

"Ireland, what the bloody hell are you doing here?" Northern Ireland asked angrily, and rather stoically. 'And at 10 o'clock in the morning, no less!'

"Just thought I'd stop by fer a friendly chat! You know, share some craic(2), take a gander at yer place. You do have a free gaff(3), right? I've heard France has been staying over a lot lately, and I'd hate to see him with bedhead." She winked as she said the last part, waltzing right into the living room like she was a regular guest.

Northern Ireland sighed in defeat before replying. "Yes. France hasn't been here in a couple of days... Wait, you never answered my question! Why are you really here?"

Emily Kirkland followed her half-sister into the kitchen, watching as the other nation pulled out a chair and sat down, rather sloppily, straightening her green and white jersey t-shirt.

"Come on, can't I just come visit my little sister once in awhile?"

"No." She replied bluntly. Another sigh of resignation escaped her lips as she sat down on countertop, facing Ireland. "You never stop by for a visit unless you need something. Not since-"

Ireland shot her a look saying 'Don't go there'. Then she switched back to her cheery demeanor from before.

"It's been awhile since I saw you last, Ulster. Last time I came for a visit you were just a little chiseler(4). Still living with Arthur at the time too. You look to be doing good fer yerself." She pulled a sleek, silver flask from the pocket of her dark cargo pants, taking a swig. "So, how are things with you and France?"

"First of all, don't call me Ulster!" She groaned. "And doesn't he talk to you about us? I'd be hurt to think he didn't even mention me to his friends."

"Oh, he does, believe me." She chuckled. "But I'd rather hear the clean version from you. If there _is_ a clean version."

"No.." Emily replied almost sheepishly. That brought about a light chuckle from both of them, something they hadn't shared in a great many years. To clarify, Ireland and Northern Ireland were sisters, but ...

~FLASHBACK (TO PREVIOUS FLASHBACK)~

The figure that had stepped out of the bushes wasn't alone. A smaller figure, looking very similar in both stature and face, followed close behind her sister, for fear of losing her. She clung fast to her hand, gripping with as much strength as she could muster. Together, they walked down to the shore, holding hands as though they were lifelines.

"Well well, what have we here?" Celtic Britain asked. She smiled at the girls, already warming up to them. She knelt down in front of them, lifting the smaller one's chin to get a better look at her. She glanced at their matching green eyes and thick, messy curls. Smiling, she stood back up, turning to her sons. "What do you say, boys? Shall we keep them?"

~Skip ahead 20 years~

"Rhi! What are you doing?" Emily Kirkland yelled to her sister and best friend.

"Leaving!" She replied coldly, pulling her over-sized coat up over her shoulder. "We're countries now, you don't need me. Besides, you obviously don't want me around. And neither does Arthur."

A lot had happened since they were kids. After Celtic Britain had died, the five children went their separate ways. Being the youngest boy, England had taken his sisters under his wing as colonies or extensions, thinking he was doing them a favor. Even though Ireland was slightly older than England, he had insisted that she couldn't handle being a nation by herself yet, and that the three of them would take care of each other until they were older. Time passed, and tensions rose. Finally, a time came when a decision was made. Having been fed up with her brother treating her like a child, Ireland decided she would just leave.**  
**

"That's not true!" Emily shrieked, salty tears streaking her face. "You can't do this to me! Why? Why are you making me choose?"

"I'm not, Emily. I'd love it if you joined me, really I would, but I also never asked for you to follow me, so don't feel obligated to." Rhiannon said as she began walking towards the door. "Besides, you should stay with that eejit(4) Arthur. You're too small for a trek like this. It's safer here. You're just... too young to understand."

"Oh don't give me that crap! You know full well that I can handle myself! Your just worried that I'll be holding you back, dragging you down!" Northern Ireland had begun screaming, her voice almost hoarse. Ireland stopped dead in her tracks. "Well you know what? I don't care! You can go off and be independent and do WHATEVER THE HELL YOU WANT! I DON'T CARE ANYMORE! I'm done trying, done putting up with your drunkerd, sorry arse! I'M staying here! I'M not going to abandon my family! The one I've worked so hard to keep!"

"FINE! Stay here! Be confined! That's YOUR choice, but not mine. I'm not going to be oppressed anymore!"

Ireland stomped to the door in a full blown rage. It had started to rain outside, and as she swung open the door the wind and water blew inside briefly, bringing with it leaves and debris from the torrent.

"Ireland, you can't just go!" Arthur yelled over the wind. "It's dangerous! And we need you!"

She stopped in the doorway, turning back to face her brother, who hadn't been there a moment before.

"I... I need you..." He confessed. He was on the verge of tears, his face turned away in shame. But that didn't seem to matter to her. She just sighed, not looking at her siblings. For a moment, Arthur let himself hope that she was thinking of staying. Even just contemplating the idea. But his hopes were dashed when she spoke again.

"No, Arthur, you really don't."

She still had her back to her siblings and her face to the wind, so they didn't see the tears that had begun to form.

"I can't put up with this anymore. I don't want to fight you anymore. I don't..." She stopped, her gaze shifting to the cloudy night sky outside. "I'm sorry... I'll come back to visit... someday. Just... don't hold dinner for me, ok?"

"Don't expect a warm welcome!" Northern Ireland yelled, her voice filled with sarcasm and remorse.

And with that, she was gone, slamming the door in her wake. That was the last they saw of their sister for a long time.

Northern Ireland had taken it the hardest, and when Ireland finally did come back into her life, she wanted nothing to do with her. She even refused to use her human name, making their relationship even more professional and even less sisterly.

~END FLASHBACK~

"So..." Northern Ireland said after their little laugh was over. "How've you been? I notice you've cut your hair since the last meeting. Shame to lose all those great curls, even though you usually straightened them anyway." She sipped her coffee, awaiting a reply.

"Yeah, decided I wanted to try something different, something a little easier to manage." Ireland replied, slipping off her hat to run a hand through her red locks. She'd cut most of the rest of her hair off. It was now a spiky, pixie cut with side sweeping bangs that hung over her right eye. Paired with her studded ears, new eyebrow piercing, and dark make-up, she looked almost dangerous. Which was probably what she was going for.

"Cool..." Was Northern Ireland's reply. "So, France tells me you and Prussia are a thing now?"

Ireland paled.

"Wha- NO! I mean... We're close, but not like that! And besides, I'm dating Greece!" She quickly replied, trying to hide her new blush.

"Really now, Is that so?"

"Yes." Rhiannon mumbled stubbornly, her arms now crossed.

"Well, just 'cause you're on a diet doesn't mean you can't visit the bakery!" Emily winked. That apparently struck a nerve somewhere, because Ireland stood up, storing her flask and heading out of the kitchen.

"Well, it was great seeing you, Emmy(**)! Hope we can do this again sometime. Later!" And with that, a rather flustered, red-headed nation walked out the front door, leaving Northern Ireland to her now lonely peace and quiet. But at least now she had something to occupy her time. She smirked deviously, watching as her sister nearly crashed into France's car as he pulled up outside.

'Oh, this is _good_...I can't wait to tell Francis!'

* * *

**Hope this chapter wasn't too centered around Ireland... Anyways reviews welcome! Seriously, I want honest opinions, especially on how I handled the Irish Independence thingy.**

**(1) "How's it cuttin" = How're you?**

**(2) "Craic" = gossip**

**(3) "gaff" = home**

**(4) "eejit" = complete fool**

**(*) Ulster is the name of the group of counties that formed Northern Ireland, or at least what they were called before becoming an official country**

**(**) Nickname she uses sometimes instead of just Emily or Em**


	7. Chapter 7

It had been almost a week since her visit to Northern Ireland's house, and Ireland was still a bit nervous from it. Sitting in a World meeting, every remotely loud noise seemed to jolt her to life, awake from her daydreams. She had only just started to calm down, knowing full well that after her brief show of emotion Emily's mischief would be in full swing. And with France by her side, there was little the two wouldn't do. Though, nothing seemed to have taken effect. Yet...

"R-Rhiannon?" The sudden noise made her jump.

"Huh?! OH! Hey Matthew." She sighed briefly before replying to her quiet friend. "What's up?"

"W-well," Canada stuttered. "I was just wondering why you're so jumpy lately? I mean, you act like you're about to bolt. It's not like you. Usually that's the Baltics' job..."

"Oh, that, well... I'm just really tired, that's all!" She spurt out nervously. She doubted the near-invisible nation beside her wanted to know the full extent of her fears of her sister's mischief. There were some things that were better left unsaid. And, there was something else bothering her, but she didn't want to discuss it with him. At least, not here.

"Oh, ok..." He didn't seem to believe her, but he knew better than to push the subject. Minutes past, the meeting dragging on like a bad lecture, as usual. Suddenly, in the middle of one of England and France's usual loud quarrels, Ireland blurted out a rather absurd question.

"Hey, where's Russia?" Silence filled the room as everyone turned their heads slowly towards Russia's usual seat at the far end of the table. It was empty, which is probably the scariest thing Russia had ever done. Or, not done... whatever.

"Has anyone seen him recently?" Little Latvia asked.

"We shou' be askin' you that same question, mate. Don'tcha live at his house?" Australia, who sat opposite them, quipped. All three Baltics shook their heads in response. If they hadn't seen him, then... Where on Earth could he be?

"Y-you mean, R-Russia is... gone, aru?" China looked the most freaked out and concerned out of everybody. Probably because the two were close friends (most of the time), and he may have had an idea as to where he might have gone. And it didn't seem good. But then, China didn't look so good either. Kinda pale...

No one answered his question. No one knew how to. They didn't know the answer, and they probably didn't really want to know either! From then on, the meeting continued, but everyone was now a little unnerved, and quieter than usual. At the end of the meeting, Scotland came up to Ireland, his casual smirk wiped clean off his face. Something was definitely wrong.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything 'bout Russia's disappearance, would you Rhi?" He said as he lit a cigar. Smoking was prohibited during meetings, so he was desperate for a drag.

"No... Why would I?" She answered, pulling her bag up on her shoulder. "And since when did you become a detective? I realize there's such thing as Scotland Yard, but that's not really yer territory, Allistor."

"Yer tense. Jittery. Looks like ye haven't had a pint in ages, and I know how you get when ya run dry. Hows about we go get a drink, catch up a little? Whad'ya say, sis?"

"I say I'm not yer sis, and I'm not up fer a drink tonight." She replied coldly, beginning to walk away. It was a lie, of course. She too was desperate for her guilty pleasure, yearning for her favorite brown bottle of smooth brewed alcohol. But she had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach, one all too familiar, and she didn't feel like being out in public. "Besides, I need to get home and feed Fionna(*). I've been gone nearly all day, so she's probably starving."

"I think I already did that today. And besides, that's not the only reason ye don't want to go out tonight, is it? Yer usually so gung-ho for a wild night at the bar." He stepped in front of her, holding his jacket over his shoulder. After a few moments of tense silence, he sighed at her stubbornness. "Ya know, whatever it is that's botherin' you, you can tell me 'bout it. I won't tell… promise."

"Thanks fer the offer, Scotty(**), but I don't think China's free samples of Chinese Tasty Treats count as a real meal, and I'm fine, really." She maneuvered around him, heading towards the door, but was stopped in her tracks by his next sentence.

"They're achin' again, aren't they?" She went rigged, her eyes wide. His back was to her, but his sad gaze was matched, both directed at the red velvet floor.

"Is it so obvious?" Were her last words, before she started walking again, leaving Scotland alone in the meeting hall, guilt and worry clouding his eyes.

* * *

'Mo dhia(1), what is wrong with me?'

The sound of a hollow truck door slamming resounded off the sturdy walls of the cliffside cottage, the echo reaching to the neighboring abodes. A rather flustered red-headed nation began storming up to the stone steps to the solid oak door, fumbling through her purse in search of keys she soon realized she didn't need. The door was unlocked, and swing open with a gentle push.

"Hello?" The Ireland called warily. "Fionna? Anyone _else_ home?"

She wandered through the short, skinny hallway, coming to the open kitchen, dining, and living room area. She was caught off guard by the figure sitting at the island in her kitchen, his head in his hands, fingers laced through his brown hair. A fluffy white cat sat beside him, calmly licking her paws.

"Greece? Hey, babe, what're you doing here?" The man looked up, showing his grief-stricken face and sad eyes. The cat did the same, but instead of looking sad, it looked board.

"Ireland! Thank goodness!" He stood up, rushing over to her and hugging her tightly. "I was so worried. Fionna too, I think..."

"Why on Earth were you worried about me? You know perfectly well I can take care of myself." She said after hugging back, then pulled away slightly to look him in the eyes. Greece sighed.

"It's Japan. I went to visit him earlier today, and I couldn't find him anywhere. I decided he was probably up in his dojo-thing, so I went up there, and he was fighting someone!"

"So? He probably trains all the time with his old samurai buddies. I don't see-"

"No, not like that. He was fighting himself!"

* * *

Upon arriving at Japan's house, both Greece and Ireland were on full alert. They rushed through the building, noting that it looked like a tornado had just ripped through it. No one was in the house, so they decided to head to the dojo. It was up on a nearby hill, not far from the house, but even from afar it was obvious that something was amiss.

They climbed the stone stairs, which were small and winding, making the trip long and grueling. About halfway to the top, Ireland stopped in her tracks, arching her back and gasping form air.

"Ireland, are you ok?" Greece asked, extremely concerned.

"Y-yeah, fine. Just my back." She said after scrunching her eyes shut tightly. She continued walking, rubbing her shoulder blades as she went.

* * *

"Oh, wow..."

Working together, they'd managed to pull the sliding door open, even though it was off its track and ripped up in the middle. Inside, potted plants were overturned, some smashed completely, and the thin paper walls were nearly shredded in some places. The weapon racks that usually sat along the walls were broken or scattered around the room, and the training mat was covered in debris. And, in the middle of it all, acting like nothing was wrong and it was a perfectly normal day, sat Japan. He held a cup of tea in one hand, the other placed in his lap, and knelt behind a small table, the one man tea set laid out before him.

Taking a sip from his tea, Japan opened his eyes and looked at his intruders. His eyes weren't their usual deep brownish-black, but rather a light, cerulean blue.

"Konichiwa, Greece, Ireland." When he spoke, his tone was serious, and... a bit deeper?

"Uh, h-hey Japan!" Ireland was the first to speak, rubbing the back of her head nervously. "How's it goin'?"

"How's what going, Ireland? I am.. confused by your statement."

"She meant, are you feeling alright? You don't seem to be yourself today. We were just-" Greece filled in, but was stopped by a voice that sounded like a double edged sword.

"I feel fine, Greece-san. But I do not appreciate unwelcome visitors. What is your real business here?" His curious gaze turned into a defiant glare, as if he was challenging his friend to tell him the truth.

"Really, Japan, we just wanted to stop by and see if you were ok. We're friend, after all. Right?"

"Maybe. But friends don't stick their nose into business where it does not belong!" Japan yelled before drawing his katana from his belt. As he did, he stood up, lunging for Greece with hatred in his eyes. Greece side-stepped just in time for Japan's weapon to slice through the remnants of the the door behind him. He swung again, and Ireland screamed. Greece somehow managed to catch the blade between his hands, keeping his friend from slicing through his skull, but it was obvious they were both straining against each other. "Don't think I didn't see you errier. You know too much! I won't awrow you to leave here alive!"

One swift kick to the gut sent Japan flying backwards, but he still managed to land on his feet, sprinting back to reach his target. Heracles managed to dodge his swift movements for a while, but he wasn't expecting a well placed kick to the side of his kneecap. He landed on the wooden floor, his head slamming against the hard wood with a sickening crack. Lying on the ground in a slowly growing pool of blood, paired with his now out of place knee, he looked almost pitiful. Japan swung back, preparing for the fatal blow, when he felt cold metal against the back of his head, a soft click accompanying it.

"Make one more move, and I pull the trigger." She said icily. She had been waiting for the right moment to jump in, not wanting to pull her weapon and misplace the bullet.

Japan didn't seem fazed by the threat, though. Instead, he smiled a smile so devious it could turn anyone's stomach. He spun around with lightning speed, slicing a nice gash in Ireland's arm, causing her to nearly drop the gun. He advanced, malice clear in his features. Clutching her now bleeding limb, she raised her weapon again, attempting to aim but failing. She closed her eyes, said a prayer, and pulled the trigger.

Sadly, she missed, though she did manage to frighten her attacker. He staggered, allowing the gun smoke to clear, before making another advance. He succeeded in landing a few more blows from not only his blade, but also the hilt, leaving another unconscious nation lying on the floor of his dojo.

Appearing satisfied, he readied the sharpest point of his katana over Ireland's throat. But, something stopped him.

"You're too rate, Demon. You cannot help her now. I am about to destroy your rast chance at freedom, and there is nothing you can do to stop it."

A figure appeared in the doorway, his off-white hair glinting in the setting sunlight as he landed, apparently from the roof. A growl resounded from his lips, and he lunged at Japan in a blur of shadows. Holding him by the throat up against the far wall, he threatened with a rather sharp looking fist.

"You. Vouldn't. Dare." He snarled, his teeth fully bared and his eyes wild. "You lay one finger on her again, and I cut you off from the other side. Permanently. I'd snap your scrawny neck right now for what you did to her, but-"

"But you shouldn't raise suspicion. I understand. It is strictly business, after all."

And with that, Japan kicked off from Prussia's chest, breaking through the paper wall and disappearing off the small cliff behind him.

Prussia tightened his now empty fist, as if in anguish at letting him get away. Then he turned around, rushing to Ireland's side. Being countries and all, they healed fairly quickly, but if things were broken and weren't set correctly, or if severe wounds were left open, they caused problems. He began to tend to her more severe cuts, the ones that hadn't already begun to disappear, ripping the sleeves off of his shirt to use as temporary bandages.

Oddly enough, he was completely ignoring Greece, who had begun to wake up now that his concussion had healed a bit. He sat up, almost noiselessly. That is, until he had to pop his knee back into place. The sick pop alerted Prussia that he wasn't alone anymore.

"Wha-... Where did you come from? And what just happened?" He said as he began to stand shakily. Prussia didn't reply right away.

"You failed to protect her. Vhat kind of a man does that make you?" He said as he stood up as well, lifting Ireland's still unconscious body up with him.

He began to walk out the door, not even stopping when Greece yelled "What are you talking about?! And you never answered any of my questions!"

"I don't have to." Was Prussia's reply.******  
**

* * *

**Before my rant, I want to thank Lucymoon1992, the awesomest beta-reader ever! Sorry to have to post this without you, but you were taking FOREVER! and I kinda wanted to continue the story. Hope you don't mind!  
ERMAHGERD! Trying to write in accents is so fracking hard! Why, Japan, why?! Why must you speak so fluently in my head and on screen, yet so stupidly on paper?! AGH!  
Anyways, sorry about that. So yeah, major action and crap in this chapter, I would really, really, REALLY like to know what you guys think of the story so far, any improvements you recommend, anything you'd like to see, ideas, or just what you think of it so far! Please? It would be really appreciated. Thanks!**

**America(on sugar): DO IT! Press that review button! PRESS IT! Doooooooo iiiiitttttt...**

**Me: o.O okay then...**

(1) "Mo dhia" = my god

(*) Fionna is Ireland's cat. She was a gift from Scotland for Ireland's birthday, shortly after she gained her independence officially. She's a fluffy white Persian who is very snobby and stuck up, and also rather full of herself. She's also an outdoor cat most of the time, and likes visiting Scotland nearly everyday for treats, but always comes home for more food (she's a bit of a pig XD)

(**) Scotty is Ireland's nickname for Scotland that he received when they were kids, and it kind of stuck. He may not like it when other people call him Scotty, especially England when he's drunk, but Ireland is the exception.


	8. Chapter 8

'Ugh... Where am I?... What... happened?'

Emerald eyes fluttered open, the remnants of sleep dissolving from them.

"Oh, bloody fuck..." Ireland exclaimed, clutching her throbbing head as she sat up. She was aching all over, and the sun streaming in from the windows stung her eyes. 'Am I hungover?' She thought to herself. Easing her eyes open slowly, she began to take in her surroundings. She was on a bed with a black comforter, the sheets a crisp white that also stung to look at at first. She turned, noting the extremely messy nightstand and the pillows, which were adorned with a very familiar black and white flag with a black phoenix on it. On the walls hung various band posters ranging from ACDC to LMFAO. The floor was extremely messy, covered in a layer of dirty clothes, and the oak door on the other side of the room was cracked open.

Now, I'm sure you've all already figured out where she is, but revelation had just dawned across Ireland's face. And she wasn't exactly pleased with the newfound knowledge.

Especially when she stood up and noticed what she was wearing.

"What the hell?!" Clad in only her undergarments, her white racerback tank top, and a pair of oversized sweatpants that were definitely not hers, needless to say she was not only suspicious, but pissed. "Cac(1)!"

* * *

Subtle humming was heard from the kitchen of the German household, matching perfectly to the tune of a Maroon 5 song on the radio sitting on the counter. Stomping feet resounded down the stairs, alerting the occupant of the kitchen to another person's presence. He spun around, prepared to greet her with a plate of breakfast, some of which still cooking on the stove behind him. Instead, though, his face made contact with a rather heavy black combat boot, sending the plate and food flying and the man stumbling backwards.

"Goddammit Prussia! What the bloody hell were you thinkin'? Why the hell am I 'ere, and why the blue blazes am I in yer pants?!" An extremely angry red head screamed as she walked into the kitchen, clutching the red sweatpants she was wearing to keep them from falling off as she walked. Then she realized how her last sentence could be misread, and proceeded to turn a vibrant red in the facial area. She also realized that the person she thought she was addressing, and had thrown her boot at, was not who she had suspected he was.

"Relax, mon ami!" France said, rubbing his forehead where the boot had hit him. He stood, hoping that the pain would subside eventually. His fair blonde hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, which was a rather hot look for him, even if Ireland and France had more of a brother-sister relationship. "Mon dieu(2), and I thought your sister was scary when she's mad."

"F-France?!" Now thoroughly confused, and also even more embarrassed due to what she was wearing, Rhiannon began to help the fellow nation up from the kitchen floor.

"Just be grateful that last statement you made isn't true." He winked teasingly, then winced at the pain it caused him. "If Emily had heard that, Lord only knows what she'd have to say."

"Believe me, I am. Now what exactly is going on here? I wake up in Prussia's bedroom, half dressed and half covered in bandages, and now I find you in Germany's kitchen?" She leaned up against the counter, crossing her arms.

"Well, you see..." He began. "You showed up here last night, drunk off your cute little bum and babbling on about Japan being mean or something. Prussia let you in, and you fell asleep on the couch. But don't worry, mon cher(3), you weren't taken advantage of. He simply moved you upstairs to his room so you'd be more comfortable, and slept on the couch downstairs." He finished casually, returning to his now slightly burnt breakfast on the stove.

"That doesn't explain why I'm wearing his pants. Or why I'm all roughed up." She noted, giving the back of France's head a death glare that would have scared even Romano into submission. France could feel her intense gaze, and sighed in defeat before smiling and turning back to her.

"Well, you got into a bit of a fight at the bar, so.. Prussia bandaged you up. You'd also... kind of... vomited.. on your clothes, so he also had to change your attire. Prussia needed to leave early this morning for a meeting with Russia, so he asked me to stay here and keep an eye on you." He said awkwardly. Her glare intensified, if that was even possible, making him flinch.

"Francis!" She nearly shouted. Her left eye began to twitch, which was quite a humorous sight, actually. "You have GOT to be KIDDING me right now! Honestly! Do you really think I'm going to believe that load of bull?! I know what 'appened last night, so don't even TRY to lie to me! I want the truth. NOW."

She'd achieved a purple-ish black aura, similar to that of Russia, in her little tirade, which only made France even more afraid of her.

"OK! OK Fine!" He relaxed a bit once she'd calmed down, but he was still uneasy about the situation, especially considering the fact that he wasn't supposed to talk about it to anyone, least of all Ireland. "And just so you know, it wasn't last night, it was more like a couple of days ago. And if you remember it so well, then I guess I don't really need to explain that part..."

Mental flashbacks of that night flashed through Ireland's mind, her thoughts finally coming together and making a little more sense with each memory. Some of the thoughts were so intense they began to give her a twinge of a headache. "Days? Really?..." She said hazily, clutching her forehead.

"Prussia rescued you from Japan, and you were pretty beat up. He bandaging you up, changed you into sleepwear, and left you to sleep. After that, he called me, asking if I could come keep an eye on you while he went to... take care of a few things. Said he was looking for some answers." He finished, leaning against the adjacent counter so he could speak to her face-to-face.

Ireland's face portrayed more than just understanding. There was also hints of sadness, and then a revelation.

"But, wait, how did Prussia get to Japan's house in time to save me? And how did he manage to get out alive? Japan's gone insane! I thought he was goin' to kill me! And... Greece! OH MY GAWD Greece! I nearly forgot all about him!" She began to search around the kitchen frantically, in pursuit of her cell phone.

France's hand obscured her vision, though, and in his hand was his own cell phone.

"Go ahead and call him. He's alright, but I'm sure he's worried." She took the phone gingerly, looking into France's ocean blue eyes just as he looked away. "We'll finish this conversation later." And with that he left the kitchen, taking his breakfast with him.

'Why do I feel... so guilty?' She thought to herself as she dialed her boyfriend's number. Shu hopped up onto the counter, swinging her legs as she listened to the phone ring. After a few rings, a groggy male voice answered.

"H-hello?"

"GREECE!" She screeched into the phone, immensely glad that she'd gotten ahold of him. The sudden loud noise made Greece yank the phone away from his ear, the pitch and volume of the sound of his name making his already aching head throb worse. "Oh, mo dia(4), you have no idea how glad I am to hear your voice! I was so worried! I-"

"Ireland! Please! Calm down!" He nearly yelled, cutting her off. He sounded hungover, which was unusual for him, since he almost never drank. "Listen, I'm glad you're ok and all, but now's not a good time."

"Wha- but, why? I mean, I realize its only-" She paused, looking at the clock on the stove, "9:30 in the mornin', but I thought-"

"Greece? Who's on the phone?" A voice was heard in the background, one that Ireland hadn't heard in a long time.

"T-Taiwan?" She would have hated to admit it, but as she said the name, her voice broke a bit. Just a bit. "Greece, what's... going on?"

Tears began to form in her eyes. she didn't really need an explanation, but she'd asked anyway, knowing full well it would only make things worse.

"Ireland, please, it-its not what you think!" Greece said. He was clutching the phone as it were her, trying to keep her from hanging up. "Rhiannon listen to me! Y-you've got it all wrong! After what happened at Japan's, I-I-I needed some help, and... I came across Taiwan on my way home. She... helped fix me up and, let me stay at her place for the night. Its nothing, really! Just... a friend helping a friend! Please, don't over react."

"Overreact? Now really, Heracles, why in the world would I do that? You've given me a valid reason, so there shouldn't be anything for me to overreact about." She said calmly. But her next sentence was far more bitter and venomous. "But I swear, if you're in _her_ bed right now, so help me God-"

"Wha- No! I was.. I was just leaving!" Shuffling was heard, along with a faint protest from a female voice. "Please, Ireland, _please_ don't hang up!"

"Whatever, Greece. We'll talk about this later." She was removed the phone from her ear, her fingers searching for the 'end call' button.

"NO, Rhiannon, wai-"

BEEP!

* * *

After finding the World news channel, France had begun to eat his crepes in peace, the dull droning of the anchors allowing him to just zone out. That is, until a hard metal object crashed into his head, followed by a furious grunt.

"OW! Ce que L'enfer(5)!" He yelled, picking his cell phone up off the couch. "What is with you today, throwing things at my head? Have you been spending time with Hungary?"

Ireland proceeded to plop down onto the opposite end of the couch as France, crossing her arms huffily. Tears were streaking her face, but her brooding pout and angry glare boring into the wall told another story. A story that France knew in an instant, because he'd been the cause of such a tale before. With a sigh, he changed his approach.

"What happened?"

Silence.

Tense, angry, unrelenting silence.

Then, she spoke.

"Greece is a lying, cheating, banjaxed(6), filthy little gobshite(7)!"

Well, since Francis had heard a few of those words come out of her mouth before, he understood what she was saying, but even if he didn't, he'd still have understood what she meant. She was beyond pissed, and it was beyond obvious. All France could do was sigh, before standing up, placing his plate on the coffee table, and sitting down on the couch beside her. She'd pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. France placed his arm across her shoulders, and as he did so she leaned over, still hugging her knees but now also leaning against him. After that, the tears fell like rain, which had also begun to fall outside, softly at first, but soon it became a torrential downpour, both indoors and out.

After a few minutes of silence, the latest news report caught their attention.

"The country of Canada has called a State of Emergency due to today's attack on almost all of its major cities. Reports are coming in that Toronto, Quebec, and Ottawa have taken the most damage, followed closely by Nova Scotia. It appears the attacks are coming from none other than... the United States of America?! What?! But, thats impossible! The last thing they need is World War III!"

Both nations sat up at the news that their friend and/or child was in danger. They both looked at each other, sharing a glance, before bolting to the doorway, ignoring the TV, which was still on.

"GAAAHH!" Ireland stopped short, nearly tripping. She'd arched her back, and her still red and puffy eyes were clenched tightly in pain. She was visibly trembling, and her fists were clenched so tightly they were turning white.

"Rhiannon! Are you alright, mon cher?" France had grasped her wrist, trying to calm her. It was then that he noticed her shoulders. While she struggled with the pain, pulling her arms into her chest and leaning forward, hugging herself, he sidestepped her to get a better look at her back. Amongst the sporadic freckles, two distinct tattoos were visible, both identical and mirror images of each other, one on either shoulder blade.

Wings.

And they seemed to be pulsing, their dark ink seeming ready to burst from her back at any given time.

"Mon dieu..." Words couldn't describe the fear and awe that passed through his features. "Rhiannon... Mon cher ami(8), what have you gotten yourself into?"

"F-Francis..." She hissed, trying to talk through the pain. "Just... help me find my clothes... I'll be fine... Don't... worry about it."

She began to clench and unclench her hands, straightening out as she did so. Taking deep breathes, she opened her eyes and began to walk again, pushing the pain aside to be dealt with at a later time. Just as she reached the basement door, France called out to her again, following her.

"Wait, Ireland!" She stopped, looking back over her shoulder at him. She looked tired and sad, but more determined than ever. "Are you sure you're alright? What's happening to you?"

"A conversation fer a later time, Francis. Right now, we need te find Canada."

* * *

**BAM! Cliffhanger! Whatcha think?! Becuase, let be honest here, I'm not even sure what to think, and I'm the author! And sorry for being so late on the update, I would have posted sooner but schools started and I probably wont have as much time to work on it for a while, so bear with me.**

**Also, I sorta beta-read for myself this chapter. Apparently LucyMoon1992 is on haitus or vacation or something, because I haven't heard from her in a while. SO! If anyone would like to be a back-up beta-reader for the time being until she returns, please PM me immediately! Much appreciated!**

**(1) "Cac"= Shit**

**(2) "Mon dieu" = My God**

**(3) "Mon cher" = My dear**

**(4) "Mo dia" = My God**

**(5) "Ce que L'enfer" = What the hell?**

**(6) "Banjaxed" = Broken**

**(7) "Gobshite" = ****Socially inept person and / or complete fool**

**(8) "Mon cher ami" = My dear friend**


	9. Chapter 9

**I strongly suggest (though you don't have to, just a suggestion) that you listen to 'Zombie' by The Cranberries while you read this. It was a bit of my inspiration for this chapter, as well as it fits the mood... sort of... Just try it. (I also think it's a perfect song to describe what a country feels during war! Just sayin' ) (AND! Dolores O'Riordan's voice/accent is what I imagine Ireland's voice sounding like)**

**And sorry for the late update!**

* * *

'_Why... My own... brother... why?...'_

* * *

"I'm sorry, sir, but we're evacuating the area. You can't come through here."

"I'm so sorry, officer, but it doesn't appear you know who I am." France said rather casually, considering the urgency behind their actions.

Ireland, on the other hand, was not so calm.

"Come on! We need to move! Let's go lets go lets GO!" She was muttering to him under grit teeth as she nearly bounced out of the passenger seat. She was practically shaking, hopping up and down and gripping the convertible's door like she was ready to rip it out of her way. Definitely out of character for her. Luckily, the roof was up, so the officer was unaware of the frantic female in the car.

"Relax, we'll be moving soon." He mutters back. "Now, officer, I believe _zis_ is all ze identification you'll be needing."

He flashed a thin black leather wallet in the man's face. His face grew pale, and he stuttered bit before speaking.

"Uh, yes, yes you're free to go, Mr. Bonnefoy. I'll just.. get out of your way then."

Before the man could finish speaking, they were off, blasting past the military barriers at speeds only Italian's felt truly comfortable with.

"What exactly did you show him there, Francis?" Ireland said hurriedly and in a bit of a strained voice.

"My U.N. identification card. It zimply proves zat I am a country, and that I have access to pretty much anywhere." He flashed a smile at her for a brief moment, before returning to his driving.

* * *

They finally reached their destination. Slamming the doors shut (rather hard, in Ireland's case), they began walking. The streets had become crumbling masses of rubble, and the radiation in the area was insanely high. Being countries meant they weren't affected, but it didn't mean they wouldn't feel a few minor side effects.

Making their way on foot, they heading towards the epicenter. They passed shops, salons, houses and apartments, all either falling apart or completely destroyed already. Shadows of people who'd been walking down the same street scarred the few remaining walls, their clean silhouettes marring the blackened walls and rubble. It was... horrific.

Eventually they reached the center of town. Or, what was left of it, at least. There was a large crater in the ground, almost the size of a football field, and in the very center of it knelt a figure with familiar blonde hair and a skewed curl. He appeared to be sobbing, his back to France and Ireland so they couldn't see his face. His pained cries rang out in the silence, the only noise beside the settling dust.

"Matthew? Matthew! Oh, dieu(1), Matthew!" France called, rushing into the crater and nearly tripping into a face plant on the steep embankment. "Je suis tellement desole, mon fils(2)!"

Ireland followed hesitantly. _'Something's not right here...' _She thought to herself. Her suspicions were confirmed when his voice rang out in the dead air. But it wasn't cries of pain or sorrow. No, it was uncontrollable, insane laughter. The kind that twists your stomach in fear.

France stopped in his tracks. Ireland skidded to a halt beside him.

"M-Matthew?!"

"Ha.. haha.. heh... AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" He'd thrown his head back, laughing at the cloud covered sky, as though they were just a joke to him. It was disturbing, to say the least.

Suddenly, he whipped his head around, his dirty blonde locks swaying lightly. He looking directly at France's and Ireland's horrified faces, into their mortified eyes. _His_ eyes were wide, and bloodshot, black sunglasses rested on the bridge of his nose, and his face was smeared with dirt, soot, and blood. His clothes, which consisted of a red Mountie jacket, black belt, black pants and leather boots, were also covered in mud and blood.. Beside him lay a hockey stick, splattered with blood. And, the most horrifying sight, was Kumajirou, lying cold and lifeless before Canada. The other two nations couldn't see him fully, but speckles of blood seemed to have splattered his face, and his eyes seemed very distant and empty.

"I did it! Ahahaha! I did it! I've destroyed Nova Scotia! It's gone! GONE! AHAHAHAHAHA!" Canada seemed rather proud of himself (whether he WAS himself or not was undecided). He continued to laugh for a moment, before he stopped abruptly, looking off into the distance. Faint shopping sounds could be heard, the tell tale signs of a helicopter. "Uh oh. Here comes the buzz kill."

Suddenly, a red and blue chopper came up over the horizon. Hanging out of the side door was a familiar burger eating nation, easily recognizable by the colors of his ride. Canada bolted to his feet, clutching his hockey stick tightly with both hands. The body Kumajirou was now visible, but it was too sick a sight to describe here.

"Yo, canuck(*) wannabe!" America shouted, cupping his hand as a makeshift megaphone. "I'm giving you one last chance! Tell me where my brother is, and I'll leave you alone!"

"A-America?!" France yelled, trying to deflect the now flying dust from his eyes. "What are you doing?!"

"Yeah, what's going on?!" Ireland added, glaring into the sun behind America's chopper.

America jumped off the chopper, and headed straight for the Canadian. As he walked, he pulled out his pistol. His face grew grim, determined, and honestly a bit intimidating.

"I said, where's my brother, you moosefucker(**)?!" America shouted, holding his pistol out gangster style (sideways) as he continued to advance, until finally he was holding the gun only inches from Canada's face.

But that didn't seem to matter to Canada. At all. Nope, he just flashed his sharp toothed, demonic smile, before swinging his hockey stick into America's rib cage.

"America!" Ireland stepped forward from behind France, but was stopped by Canada's hockey stick in her face, almost making contact with her nose. The heroic American was now hunched over, on his knees, and gasping for breath.

"Stay. Back." Canada ordered, his voice surprisingly strong and forceful. "This is _not_ your fight. I suggest you leave now, unless you want war. We wouldn't want that, would we?"

He flashed another devious smile, before pulling a small black phone out of his pocket. He pulled his hockey stick back, turning around and spinning it with his fingers as he walked.

"Hey, Ollie! I got him." He stopped walking. "Stuff it, cupcake, I got bigger problems...What?! NO! I... Yeah, why?... WHAT?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!... Fine, I'll take care of him. But you owe me."

As he spoke, Ireland and France were attempting to move the injured America, who was now standing. Before they could get anywhere, though, the Canadian spun on his heels and hung up the phone. He smirked as everyone froze in their tracks, watching him in fear of his next actions.

"Hey, demon! You can come out now!" No response.

"What they hell is he doing?!" Ireland whispered. Suddenly, he came up behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist and placing the other over her mouth as he pulled her away from the other two nations. They wanted to protest, but since america was unable to carry his own weight and France was currently weaponless, they could do nothing.

"Shh, we don't want to startle him. Now, just play along, and _maybe_ I won't hurt you." He whispered into her ear, his lips brushing them lightly as he spoke. It was kinda creepy.

He gripped both of her wrists and held them behind her back firmly, and used the hand that was covering her mouth he reach into her back pocket and pull out her own revolver. He switched off the safety, the click resonating across the barren landscape eerily. Then, slowly, he placed the barrel of the gun to the side of her temple.

In an instant the air shifted. A shadow darted past the sun briefly, before a large, black comet landed between the two pairs of nations. As the black billows of smoke dissipated, snow white hair and glowing red eyes appeared, the rest of the body following after.

"P-Prussia?" Ireland whimpered. "Is.. is it... really you?"

* * *

**HEY! Sorry for another suckish cliffhanger/thrilling(not) ending, AND for the delayed update. DX I is not proud of myself for that. But! I have a valid excuse! There's this thing, its called high school, and its kinda a big deal. Yeah, I blame that... And sheer laziness... :P**

**Anywayz! I was genuinly curious if any of you, after reading this chapter, have figured out what's happening or not. I don't mean you know EXACTLY what's going on, because if you did I would be failing my job as an author, but I meant do any of you see the references to the 2P! universe yet?... :/**

**crap.**

**I just gave it away.**

**OH WELL! More to come, promise! Just might take some time.**

**(1)**"**Dieu" = God**

**(2)**" **Je suis tellement desole, mon fils" = I'm so sorry, my son**

**(*) American nickname for Canadians, not meant to be taken seriously! I would never use this to insult anyone!**

**(**) Sorry for the language, I kinda made it up on the spot. Meant to be an insult. Nothing personal.**


	10. Chapter 10

_**HEY EVERYONE! First off, Happy Memorial Day! Second, sorry it took so long, but as you've probably noticed, I've kinda got a full head, and a busy schedule, and lack of inspiration lately, so yeah... BUT! I have not, and WILL NOT give up, EVER! This story will be finished. It just might take a while... so here's the new chapter, enjoy!**_

_**Gonna put this here so it flows better:**_

_**(*) Jean= pronounced john, as in Jean-Luc, like Jean-Luc Picard the Star Trek captain.**_

_**(**) Married friends means Hungary and Austria, case you couldn't figure that one out on your own.**_

* * *

_"P-Prussia?" Ireland whimpered. "Is.. is it... really you?"_

Everyone stared, awestruck, at Prussia. The smoke had cleared, revealing him in all his Germanic, albino splendor. He was pissed, and his vicious snarl showed long, sharp canine teeth. His eyes burned with a rage fueled flame, their usual deep red now more of a blood-like tint. His hands, paler than usual, were balled into fists, clenched so tight they were shaking. But, the most noticeable change to his appearance was the large pair of leathery, black and red bat wings protruding from his back.

Silence filled the awe stricken air. No one dared speak, for fear of breaking the false calm that had settled over the whole group. They just stared at the man they hoped was still their friend, and waited for someone to speak, to make a move.

Finally, one voice, gruff and condescending, shattered the quiet.

"Hello, Demon." 'Canada' said. "Nice of you to make an appearance."

He still held the gun to Ireland's head, but she had quit struggling long ago, now holding onto his thick arm in a weak attempt to release herself.

"Let her go, Riley." Prussia snarled, his voice rougher and more dangerous than ever. "She isn't a part of this. This is between me, and the rest of you."

"Ah, the rest of us. You do realize you're one of us, don't you? I'd hate to think you've forgotten, after all these years."

As 'Canada' spoke, two figures stepped out from the shadows. They went mostly unnoticed, until Ireland caught sight of them. But by the time she had gathered enough frantic breath from her struggling windpipe it was too late. Her friends were already being overpowered, by men who looked scarily similar to the men they were attacking. One, who held France in a headlock, had long, curly blonde hair, pulled back into a short, messy ponytail. He clenched a thin white cigarette between his soft lips, and his sneer showed strangely perfect white teeth. He looked almost exactly like France, albeit a bit hungover and scruffy, with thick stubble on his chin and once nice clothes that were now disheveled and dirty.

The other man also looked familiar. Like America, but with chestnut brown hair and sunglasses. He even wore a bomber jacket like America's, but the similarities stopped there. He had facial piercings, one on his eyebrow and another on his bottom lip, as well as several in his ears, and his jeans were riddled with holes. Paired with his red converse, he looked like trouble. And so did his baseball bat, which was covered in nails.

With all of his friends incapacitated, Prussia was the only one left standing alone. He was seething with rage now, but he had toned himself down enough to hold it in, just barely.

"What do you vant vith them, Riley?" Prussia yelled. "This isn't their fight. They veren't a part of the deal! You said-"

"AH! I didn't say anything!" The apparent Riley said, waving the gun in the air a little to emphasize his point. "You made your contract with Oliver... and Kaspar."

That name seemed to strike a chord with Prussia. He flinched, as if he'd been slapped, and his face faltered and went pale.

"Hope you haven't forgotten about him too, Gilly! We all miss him terribly back home. 'Specially me." Riley began to take a step back, but he made an obviously false puppy-dog face of sadness. It didn't last though, because as soon as he had backed far enough away, he proceeded to slam his steel-toed foot into the back of Ireland's leg. She fell to her crippled knees, catching herself with her shaking arms before falling completely to the ground, gasping desperately for breath. But as soon as she looked up, she knew it was already too late. Everything just happened too fast.

The bullet sailed through the air, but it never made contact with its target. In a wisp of black smoke he was gone, shooting into the sky like a rocket. The bullet flew past, and into the shoulder of the captive France. Not a second later, America was flipping his captor over his back and onto the dusty ground. He then proceeded to steal his nail-riddled baseball bat, and was poised to smash it into the brunette's head.

"No..." Ireland rasped, her vision beginning to blur and her eyes glazing over. "No... NO!"

Cracka-boom!

White hot light followed the explosion, and it stunned everyone. I think it might have even broken the sound barrier too...

When the dust cleared, Ireland was standing. Her jacket was in tatters, and only one strap of her tanktop still holding on. She held up clenched fists closed almost as tightly as her eyes. By the look on her face, she was either in deep concentration, or dire pain, judging by the grimace. And, more notably, there were now a pair of soft, white wings protruding from her shoulder blades. They glowed in the remaining light.

Then, she opened her eyes.

They appeared to have rolled back into her head or something, but in any case, they were a glazed, cloudy white, and glowing. As the light in her eyes, and the surrounding area, dissolved, the familiar green gaze was replaced with black pearls, as cold with fury as the pits of hell.

"Nice of you to join us, dollface." Riley said after coughing up the dust that had settled in his lungs.

"Silence, heathen!" Rhiannon shouted, twisting around to face him, even though he had been knocked on his butt in the explosion. She reached down and picked him up by his shirt collar. Bringing him to eye level, she pulled her other fist back, ready to swing, when it was stopped by a certain albino... bat... thing...

"No!" He said, more to her than anyone else. Then he whispered into her ear. "Don't. He's still important. You kill him, and we start World War III. Wait."

Their eyes locked for a moment, red and black, bloody and cold, intense and unfaltering.

"Control yourself." Prussia whispered. "I realize this is still new to you, but you have to restrain it. You can do it, Rhi. You're still in there, I know it."

"No one said I wasn't already in control." She seethed. Her features, too, seemed sharper, as well as her senses. She tore out of his grip, turning her attention back to Riley. With a second's whiplash, she tossed him aside. Effortlessly.

Storming away, her worn boots crushing small craters in her footsteps, she made her way towards her friends. Who were still a bit shell-shocked, honestly. I mean, who wouldn't be? The dirty frenchman spat out his cigarette. He watched with a forced smile of confidence as she stepped closer and closer. Soon they were face to face, almost touching.

"Drop him, Jean(*). He is of no use to us dead. Tim, get your ass of the ground, lets go!"

Riley's orders were followed, begrudgingly. The man called Jean shoved the bleeding Francis into Ireland's stiff arms, as he and the fake America took off running, heading towards an incoming helicopter. As they boarded, Riley hung out of the open door, shouting.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Angel. Hope we can do this again sometime." And he left with a passing wink.

* * *

They made their way back to the safety of the border, vaguely bandaging France's wound and taking a car to one of America's many houses. Along the way, Prussia transformed back into his normal self, as did Ireland, and the rest of the ride was spent in tense silence and avoided eye-contact. When they reached America's house, America made France his first priority, helping him inside to properly care for his injury. This left Prussia and Ireland alone to talk. Or not.

"So... yeah..." Prussia began.

"Yep." Ireland replied curtly. Her face looked mildly calm, but he could tell that inside she was still fuming. Her eyes gave her away, they looked like they were about to burst into tears.

"When." He asked when he caught sight of her tattooed back.

"I don' know, honestly. First I though' it was some joke England had played with his magic. But when they didn't go away... guess I just didn't pay 'em much mind. Til they started hurting. They burned. They still do. Like hellfire and acid. It kills. But I never told anyone. I was scared. I was young, so young. Just a wee lass then, maybe a hundred years old? An' when I first transformed, well... Scotland was there. He witnessed it, and... and I almost killed him. I was so angry, all the time. And when I got angry, they burned, which only made me feel even more mad. I felt like I was going absolutely insane. I had no outlet, nothin' to stop me, and when I... when it happened, Scotland was the only one around. And he was honest to god afraid of me. Something inside me snapped, and I just... let loose. He still has the scars, I bet."

They had started walking, coming to a stop beside a small pond in America's backyard. They sat down, and Ireland wrapped her arms around her still shaking knees. Prussia placed a hand on her back, making her flinch at the cool touch.

"How about you." She mumbled over her pale arms. He sighed.

"Vhen I was dissolved, as a nation." This caught her attention, and she raised her head and turned to look at him as he spoke. "See, I vas a real ass back then. A real selfish bastard. I lost my best friends when they grew up, and I didn't. And when they got married(**), well... it kind of broke my heart. About the same time, I got stuck raising Holy Rome. He was a great kid, and I loved him. He became my world, my little bruder. But then, he went to war. And he never came home. That only set me back even further, into my own self pity and brooding. I velt like I had failed him, like I hadn't been there for him, to protect him from... himself, I suppose. And then, one day, Germany showed up at my door. He was exhausted, beat all to hell, and he didn't know who he was. Something about him, I don't know... just, reminded me of Holy Rome. So, I took him in, and told myself I'd do a better job this time, be a better bruder than I had ever been before. Years passed, and he grew up, so fast. And then, Old man Fritz died... and I just, fell apart. I was dissolved, my land given to my neighbors, and I began dying. Poor Germany had too much to deal vith on his own, I didn't dare to tell him. I set off on my own, heh, coughing a trail of blood I suppose. I went looking for a way to save myself, for Germany's sake, but more so for myself. I was afraid of dying. I was driven by fear and selfishness. When I stumbled across England during his magic phase, I begged him to help me find a way to save myself. We began our research, and came across an alternate universe. Another world, beside our own. Where everything is different. Where Germany won WWII, and Italy took over from there."

"Wait- Italy? As in, oh-my-god-I'm-gonna-die-save-me-Germany, Italy?" To this he just nodded. "Wow..."

"Me and England, we made a deal with our counterparts on the other side. They said they had a way of making me immortal, even without a country. I sold my soul to them, in exchange for my life. But now, the... other me, Kaspar... He's inside me. In my head. But he's dead. I killed him. And not just that... I- "

"HEYYY! Freakshows! Come inside! England's on the phone, and he's mad!" America's voice crossed the vast yard like a siren, and he went back inside as they ventured back to the building.

* * *

They could hear his voice before they even entered the room. The phone was on speaker, and England was shouting profanities and nonsense at them from the other end.

"-YOU HEAR ME, YOU COTTON HEADED NINNY MUGGINS?! I WILL APPARATE OVER THERE RIGHT NOW IF YOU DON'T ANSWER, I SWEAR TO-"

"Oh shut your fat mouth, Arthur, you're giving me a headache." Ireland shouted at the phone as she rubbed her forehead in anguish, entering the room.

"Ireland! Thank heavens, I thought you were dead!"

"Nah, just sore. I'm fine." She stopped, confusion crossing her face. "Wait, since when have you cared?"

"Thats not the point right now, Ireland. We need to discuss something. And America? I know you're there. I heard about that little stunt in Canada! Don't think that will be blown over as 'no big deal'. Nuclear warheads are not playthings, how many times do I have to tell you that?!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Was the only understandable thing that came out of America's stuffed face.

"Get to the point, Igg." Prussia gruffed, plopping down onto the couch, and pulling Ireland's pacing figure down beside him.

"My point is, I know what happened in Canada. I know he wasn't there. Not the real Canada. I also know where he is now. And what's happening there. Prussia, I believe you do too." Prussia tensed, his agitated expression facing the window in defiance. "I know you aren't comfortable with this, Gilbert. But we've put them off long enough. They can't be held back in that portal any longer. You- We started this, Prussia. And we need to finish it."

"What do you want us to do, Ig?" He asked tersely.

"I want you to come to my house. It's far safer to talk in person than over the phone. And, I've got a hostage. He should be able to help explain things for us. Bring France as well, and call anyone who's left. Spain, Greece, Cuba, anyone you can get ahold of. But only if you're sure it's them, and not their doppelgangers. We need to be extra cautious from now on, alright?"

Everyone nodded, then realized they were talking on the phone and needed to speak.

"Oui." France answered as he waltzed sleepily into the room. "And, Arthur? Do be careful, non? You and Prussia are the only one's who know what's going on here, and I believe we'll need both of you in this endeavor."

Instead of the expected 'bugger-off-you-bloody-frog' reaction, he simply replied "Yes." And hung up.

* * *

As he finished the conversation and hung up the phone, Arthur Kirkland began to realize just what was about to transpire here. He knew this day would come, he had been dreading it for years! But he had no idea how it would play out, how this would end. Only time would tell.

And for possibly the hundredth time in his life, the United Kingdom felt as though the fate of the world, rested on his shoulders.

* * *

**R&R please! Seriously, need feedback! If you want this torture to stop and the story to be deleted, I'd like to hear it (even thought that probably wont happen). If you want more romance, or less romance, or you notice quirky things and tiny details, please speak up! I am on my knees BEGGING!**

**Oh. And also looking for a new beta-reader. Begging for that too...**


End file.
